Northstar Vale ¹ oþlō

It was hideous  (nevermind their own hunkering in the mud like two ill-behaved goblins, preying on something that much more malevolant than they)  but even through the dying foliage she can see this gargantuan being; arms hanging low like evergreen boughs, evaded even by lunelight. Kill. Kill. Oh, she would love to; would adore the ripping of ligament from limb; of nibbling through the bone and to the very marrow, even the hide, the eyes-- eyes that were utterly fathomless, staring back at the mothpale and the flame that flickered beside it.  

But the fear in her courtling's chords was enough to reign the stricken back to the plane of sense -- for now, it seems, she is resettled.  "No,"  she wisps, shorn brow unfurling from its own frustrations. They would, however, see that it would depart from these lands; regardless of how effortless it had bypassed their premises in the first.

So when this folk-cloaked figure finally turns, near dismissive, Andraste waits several heartbeats, and several more, before rising from her post and meandering after.